


Braided Hair of Flaming Star

by amyfortuna



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Elf/Human Relationship(s), F/F, Finduilas Is Gil-galad, Haircuts, Implied/Referenced Crossdressing, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 04:28:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5115734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finduilas makes a decision which she cannot go back on. Niënor provides assistance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Braided Hair of Flaming Star

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nisiedraws](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nisiedraws/gifts).



"Are you ready?" 

Finduilas took a deep breath and closed her eyes, mentally preparing herself for the shock of it. After a moment, she nodded, and Niënor's knife sliced through her braid, taking Finduilas' hair neatly off at the shoulder. 

"Does it look very bad?" Finduilas asked, eyes still closed, picking nervously at a spot on her rough tunic, then jerking her hands away when she realised she could unravel the whole thing easily that way. 

"No," Niënor said. "You look younger, perhaps, or you would if you were of my race." She laid the knife aside, along with the long golden coil of Finduilas' braided hair, and nudged Finduilas gently with her knee. Finduilas opened her eyes and stared upward at Niënor from her seated position on the large rock just outside the cave they called home. 

"And you, my dear, look too old for your years. This woodland life does not suit you." Finduilas sighed and stood up, leaning in to press a kiss to Niënor's lips. Niënor smiled into the kiss, pressing closer, laying her arms around Finduilas' waist. 

They had been living here together in the woods for three years, ever since Finduilas had rescued Niënor from Glaurung, capturing her hand and leading her away quietly. For a time Niënor could not so much as speak, and even now she could not remember her life before, but she was stubborn and strong-willed, and the dragon had not taken everything from her. She had regained so much of what she had lost, even if she could not remember the events of her life. 

Finduilas had become her life. It was the two of them, against the world and all its ills, working together to survive, falling in love along the way. Together they hunted, they gathered, they raised small crops of grain, they made their little cave a warm home, and spent every night wrapped each other's arms. When there was little food to eat, Finduilas gave it to Niënor, and when their clothes began to wear out Niënor remembered her mother's teachings, though she could not remember her mother, and devised garments from furs, and later from sheep's wool and the down from the birds they shot. 

It was Finduilas who had suggested returning to civilisation. She was, after all, a princess, and somewhere there would be a remnant of her people needing a leader. She would be their leader, their hope, their king, even, if she could make it so. 

Finduilas, one arm around Niënor, reached out and tenderly touched the long golden braid that lay abandoned on the rock. "Call me no more Finduilas," she said. "Call me Finellach, instead."


End file.
